


Easy now, Watch it go

by rhymeswithmonth



Category: Nightrunner Series - Lynn Flewelling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aurënen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithmonth/pseuds/rhymeswithmonth
Summary: In a moment of clarity, Seregil tells his father about Ilar's scheme, avoiding the tragedy that would lead to his banishment. In a moment of mercy, Ireya ä Shaar's brothers spare her life and allow her to raise Alec as a Hâzadrielfaie.They find their way to each other in every universe.
Relationships: Alec í Amasa/Seregil í Korit, Seregil í Korit/Ilar í Sontir
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a fun little 'what if' drabble, and snowballed into this. What if Alec was raised faie and eventually travelled to Aurenen and met Seregil there? What would Seregil's life have been like if he wasn't banished?
> 
> I inserted quite a lot of lore regarding Faie customs that I made up or altered and took a lot of liberties. Please forgive.
> 
> Small warning for light themes of emotional abuse. A toxic relationship is depicted in which one character shows gaslighting tendencies and overly possessive behaviour.

You sit there in your heartache  
Waiting on some beautiful boy to  
To save your from your old ways  
You play forgiveness  
Watch it now, here he comes

...

“Is that really all of them? The whole clan?” Seregil asks in dismay as they watch the Hâzadrielfaie file into the plaza.

Kheeta cracks an eye open to observe the newcomers. He’s been dozing off against a column, always vexed by early early mornings like this one. He would have slept until well after midday if allowed. Basking in the sun with the heavy aroma of dangling wisterias above their heads certainly isn’t helping to wake him up. “It must be.” He replies, “They said they brought everyone.”

And it appears they did, for there are elders and children among them, who would never normally attend a clan gathering. Seregil even spots several infants young enough to be swaddled against their parent’s chests.

A quick count of the blue and white sen’gai tallies only just over thirty Hâzadrielfaie. Given that their founder had left with around a hundred, and accounting for population growth, there should be far more of them. A chill of dread shivers through Seregil’s core. Since he’s not a member of the Iia’sidra he hasn’t been told the details, but something truly terrible must have happened to estranged cousins to cut their number so low. And to brave the journey all the way here with so many of their very old and very young.

The looks of the Hâzads would suggest recent tribulations. Even after a week enjoying Aurenen's hospitality in Gedre, the group is travel worn and lean under their borrowed tunics. They have the look of kicked hounds, eyes shifting restlessly, packed together like their meagre numbers could protect them, hackles up even in the safety of their homeland among kin.

And they are unmistakably kin, faie through and through. Seregil had sort of expected them to look different, to be unique in some way from the clans they’d left behind, but they are indistinguishable. The sleek dark hair, rich skin tones, and fine bones of their shared ancestors are all still there. Which, he supposes it has only been a handful of generations, and they’ve been living in isolation so the blood would indeed have remained pure.

At least, nearly so. There is one ya’shel in their ranks, the only Hâzadrielfaie half-blood. Seregil had heard of him already, the notorious Faie rumor mill churning more than ever with the news of the Hâzads return. The Ya’shel certainly stands out from his fellows, he’s young but already tallest of the group. He looks very tìr with blue eyes and golden hair hanging in a braid between the tails of his sen’gai. He’s standing with his arm through that of an older woman who shares some of his features, their angular faces have the same fine shape, but otherwise he must take very much after his father. Everyone has been in fits wondering how such a half-blood came to be, given the tales of the Hâzad’s ruthless segregation policies. Despite himself Seregil’s own curiosity is peaked as well, even more so after seeing the ya’shel. He looks to be well integrated, smiling and chatting with his clan mates without any sign of alienation.

Perhaps Seregil has been staring too long, the Ya’shel seems to sense his gaze and turns in time to catch his eye. Caught out Seregil fully expects his lack of manners to be met with hostility but instead the Ya’shel smiles brightly, even lifting his hand in greeting.

He’s really quite astonishingly beautiful, Seregil realizes so suddenly that his breath falls short. He can’t help but wave back, heat rising in his cheeks. The Ya’shel’s grin deepens at that, dimples pricking the smooth curve of his cheeks. When he looks away - in response to something one of the others has said to him - it feels as if the sun has gone behind a cloud.

Beside him Kheeta clears his throat pointedly. “Um.” He drawls, close in Seregil’s ear, “What was that?

Elbowing him away Seregil turns to try and hide his dismayed blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He snaps, mortified enough at himself without his friend teasing. Not allowing himself another look at the Hâzadrielfaie he hurries away along the terrace and ducks through a door into a nearby atrium. He can hear Kheeta following behind him, boots clicking on the tile floor. It’s dim and much cooler inside, and Seregil’s humiliation fizzles quickly, leaving him vaguely dizzy. Somebody has laid out refreshments on a long table and he grabs a goblet and guzzles it without checking what it is. Disappointingly it’s not turab, still too early in the morning for that. But the citrus infused water helps quell his nerves.

“Hey.” Kheeta speaks up, “it’s no big deal you know. You’re allowed to smile at other people.”

“I know I know.” Seregil grumbles. “Can we leave it alone?”

“I mean we can…” Kheeta clearly doesn’t want to leave it. “Just, do you actually know? If that kind of thing would make Ilar mad he can go stuff himself-“

“It wouldn’t make him _mad_.” Seregil sounds unconvincing even to himself, “Really it wouldn’t. He’s just…protective. He worries about me.”

“Worries? About you saying hi to people?” They’ve had this conversation before but Kheeta just never gets it. Seregil sighs wearily.

“Yes! So don’t mention it okay?”

Kheeta laughs dryly, “Mention it when? You know he and I don’t exactly talk right? I’m not worth his time.”

“No, you don’t talk because he knows you don’t like him. You know how proud he is, he’s not going to be nice to you when you’re being all passive aggressive.” Another tired topic. Seregil has to hear it from the both of them any time they’re all together. “If the two of you could just let go of your stupid grudge it’d make my like a whole lot easier.”

“I’ve got no grudge!” Kheeta insists, picking up a tart and breaking it in half to sniff at the filling. It’s spiced raisons not his favourite sweet lime, so he tosses it back onto the platter with a pout. “He’s the one with a grudge.”

“If you say so.” Now that Seregil is thinking about Ilar, he can’t ignore the tug that’s dragging on the bond between them. They haven’t spoken yet today, Seregil had spent the night in the Bôkthersa tupa, hoping that space would ease the tension between them. But based on the irritable prickle he feels from the bond, his talímenios is just as ill-tempered as he’d been when they parted the night before. 

Judging by the angle of the sun through the thin windows, he still has time to go find Ilar before the meeting. “I’m going to go talk to him.” He tells Kheeta, who predictably attempts to dissuade him.

“No don’t, he should be the one to come crawling back to you!” He insists, trailing after him down the arched passage that leads toward the clan houses. Seregil has to pause here, trying to remember which way the Chyptaulos tupa is, in which time Adzriel appears with that keen sixth sense she’s always had for when he is about to do something she doesn’t want him to. She strides smoothly over and hooks an arm around his shoulders.

“Where do you think you’re going little brother?” She asks, tone clearly rhetorical. “The great chamber is this way, let’s go and get the good seats.”

Defeated, Seregil allows her to pull him back the way they’d come, grabbing Kheeta up under her other arm. “You’re Khirnari.” He grumbles, “nobody is going to take your seat.”

“But you aren’t, so let’s make sure you’ve got a good view eh haba?”

To her credit the chamber is already getting full, despite it being a full hour until the gathering will formally begin. The round room is plain compared to the rest of the compound, made of rough blocks of dark stone curving upward into a high dome. The floor is bare dirt, so compacted by hundreds of years of faie walking over it that it’s as hard and smooth as marble. It smells damp and earthy and still reminds Seregil of the first time he’d attended a gathering decades ago, and still inspires the same quite deep awe he’d felt then. How wondrous to be standing in the same place his ancestors did when they first founded their homeland, to be walking with their spirits under the same roof that had held the first clans.

They accept cushions from an attendant at the door and pick their way down the steps to the Bôkthersan section. Säaban is already there, seated with Malli and a few cousins, so they set their cushions on the empty bench behind them. Adzriel will have to leave them to go sit with the rest of the Iia’sidra soon enough, but for now she stays pasted to Seregil’s side.

He would’ve found her hovering insufferable if he hadn’t missed her so much. Most of the time he doesn’t allow himself to regret leaving home to live in with Ilar in his clan’s faie’thast. He’s happy living with his talímenios in the home they’ve made for themselves, and he’s made enough friends in Chyptaulo that he’s not lonely. But there’s no substitute for his family and the distance has been hard. Even though she’s a horrid nag and refuses to keep her nose out of his business, Seregil can’t help but lean into Adzriel’s embrace to savour her presence.

He wishes that Ilar could be more understanding. Seregil has long since given up hope that his talímenios and his sisters would see each other as true kin, but they don’t hate him like he thinks they do. Ilar’s pride has always been so strong, even for a Faie. It’s something that had drawn Seregil to him in the beginning, but now it’s just exhausting. Seregil has pleaded with him for years to just get over their past differences and make nice with the Bôkthersans, but the man refuses to make any submissions.

Speaking of whom, the Chyptaulos representatives enter the chamber from the door directly across. Ilar immediately looks over to Seregil. His face is a cool, dispassionate mask, and the only visible sign of recognition he sends is a haughty brow raise. Through the bond, Seregil receives a sharp jolt of raw emotion.

Before he formed his own, he had never realized the talímenios bond would be so physical. In the stories it was always told as this purely emotional connection. They were taught growing up that the bond was a way for life partners to always feeling supported and cherished even when separated, of being able to know when your the other was distressed and in need of comfort. Of feeling their happiness like it’s your own, doubling the joy, while being able to share your anxieties, cutting them in half. A beautiful sacred thing.

And certainly Seregil has experienced all of that, he has. But some days he finds himself wishing that his bond with Ilar was…not /gone/ of course he loves it, just quieter. Because at some point in the early years Ilar has become quite skilled at using their connection to purposely communicate, almost like he’s speaking directly into Seregil’s heart. Which Seregil didn’t even know was possible. The force of those feeling being pushed through the bond is always a lot to handle, especially times like this when he’s cross about something. He’s been poking at the bond all morning, which has resulted in quite a headache forming behind Seregil’s eyes. And that jolt just now is something he only ever does when he’s truly displeased, almost like a hard pinch or flick behind the ear.

Seregil tries to send back a soothing apology, but he’s never been as good at sending his feelings as Ilar is. Yet another point of contention between them. Sometimes when they’re fighting Ilar will claim it means Seregil doesn’t love him as much as he does, that if he did he’d be able to feel it that way. Seregil has tried to tell him again and again how untrue it is, and tried to make up for it with his words and his body, showing his love those ways. But Ilar always brings it up again sooner or later.

Like last night. They’d had another fight, they always do when their clans come together. It had started right from the moment they arrived, Seregil had barely any time to enjoy seeing his family for the first time in a year before the tension had started building.

They’d barely made it through the door before Shalar was making a pointed comment about his sen’gai. “I hope you’re not planning to wear that tomorrow.” She had sniffed in distaste, plucking at the gold and black tails draped over Seregil’s shoulder. “It’s bad enough when you’re in Chyptaulo, but here? In the sacred city in front of everyone?”

“I’ve told you-“ Seregil shushed her, but Ilar had obviously heard the comment. As she’d no doubt intended; she’d said it loud enough to carry across the room. Based on the clench of his jaw he’d taken the insult as personally as ever. “I wish you wouldn’t do that!” Seregil grumbled, “I’ve told you it’s none of your business!”

“It is!” She snapped back, still louder than he’d like. “It’s unnatural! You should be wearing our colours! Especially to a gathering! It’s like he’s marked you as his possession! I don’t understand why you’re fine with tossing away your identity! Being paraded around like an accessory!”

“I’m not tossing away anything!” Embarrassingly Seregil felt hot tears prickling under his lashes. “It makes Ilar- it makes both of us happy! He’s my family just as much as you are why can’t you accept that?”

“When you’re wearing another clans colours it doesn’t feel like you’re my family at all!” With that she spun on her heel leaving him standing alone. Her words stung fiercely, and Seregil was left struggling to compose himself. It hit so hard because it was a doubt that he felt in his own heart every day that he wrapped the Chyptaulos sen’gai around his head in place of Bôkthersan green. But when he attempted to explain it to Ilar that night he didn’t find much sympathy.

“I’m just going to wear it while we’re in Sarikali. I need to represent my clan at the gathering!” Seregil told him, folding the gold sen’gai carefully and tucking it away in his trunk.

“Chyptaulos is your clan now!” Ilar had insisted stubbornly, “Your precious family saw to that when they threw us out! Or don’t you recall how the most humiliating day of our lives?”

_They didn’t throw us out, they threw you out because they found out you were plotting against us and they loved me enough to spare you for my sake. And I loved you enough to follow._ Seregil didn’t say. “That was years ago, we need to move on.” He said instead. “Why can’t you just accept that it’s important to me to represent Bôkthersa here? It doesn’t mean I’m any less yours talì.”

Ilar just scoffed “Did you see the way they were looking at me? Your beloved Khirnari snatched you up and glared at me like she was never going to let you go. They’ll try to tear us apart if you give them a chance, mark my words, they’ve always hated me! I thought it would be easier after your father died, but it’s only gotten worse!“

Seregil had been trying to keep his own temper low but that was the final straw. “You thought it would be better once my father died?” He repeated incredulously, “How- how could you say that? You know how hard it’s been for us - losing him like that! How could you be so cruel?” Heartbroken and seething he gathered clothes for a few days into a bag. Ilar hovered at his back protesting, but Seregil shoved him aside and stormed out the door.

Adzriel met him in the foyer of her house with a sad smile and comforting embrace. “That’s better.” She smoothed a hand over his sen’gai, “I missed seeing you in green.” His room was already prepared for him, linens fresh and turned down. Seregil felt a small rush of annoyance that his sister had anticipated this, but felt too drained to do anything but collapse into his childhood bed. He allowed himself to indulge in a brief, frustrated cry into the pillow.

Rolling over into his back, he forced his breathing to slow and wiped the tears from his cheeks. The ceiling was painted to resemble the forest canopy of Bôkthersa, chunky green and yellow strokes mimicking sunlight streaming through leaves. If you know where to look there were creatures hidden throughout - little blue beetles and spotted frogs, a handful of bright-eyes haba, a flock of magpies. And of course the dragons, from fingerlings barely discernible against the vines to one big one in the middle, scales blending into the leaves. Adzriel had commissioned it specially to celebrate his first gathering, he’d spent so many nights gazing up at it he knew every line. His heart ached thinking about it, it had been a night just like this one, during a clan gathering, that he’d first met Ilar.

He remembered like it was yesterday, lying in the very same spot that night forty years ago, giddy breathless with excitement. He’s been so young, twenty years old with first infatuation hot in his blood. Ilar had been such an enigma - well into his thirties, so effortlessly cool and mature. Yet he’d treated Seregil like an equal - unlike many of the other older Faie who looked down their noses at him, a mere child not worth their time. He’d been worth time to Ilar, and he hadn’t been shy letting him know it. Being showered with praise and attention, treated like somebody important, that had been exhilarating.

What had happened? Seregil moaned thinking about it, scrubbing his eyes. That Ilar was still there, under the strange bitterness that had grown on the surface. He still showed himself once and a while, the sweet fun man who Seregil had fallen for. Mostly it’s when they’re at home just the two of them, and Ilar’ inhibitions would fall and he’d swoop in and tickle him like he used to, kiss his nose and dance them around their apartment. Those days made it worth it, Seregil told himself, they’re only human after all. Loving each other despite their flaws is what partnership is about.

He refused to let himself think about how infrequently those good days have become. Sitting across the gathering hall from him now, feeling his anger throb down the bond between them is difficult. Ilar isn’t meeting his eyes and it makes Seregil feel a bit like he’s drowning. He can’t even feel the warmth of his sisters pressed against him from either side.

“I’ve got to go.” Adzriel murmurs, switching out with Illina who slides in to take Seregil’s hand. “Don’t let him get to you. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Dropping a kiss on his brow she makes her way down to the bottom ring where her fellow Khirnari’s are all getting settled. Attendants make rounds with trays of tea and grapes, Seregil isn’t thirsty but Illina forces a cup into his hands. The familiar warmth of the clay between his hands does help ground him, it’s a Bôkthersan blend - an old favourite. He sips slowly, soothing his sore throat.

At hush falls over the chamber as the Hâzadrielfaie appear. As their host Riagel is escorting them, leading them to a section that’s been cleared for them in the Gedre pews. The Hâzads hold their heads high under the room full of inquisitive eyes, as dignified as any of their mainland kinsmen. Once they’re seated, the hush sinks into complete silence as they turn their eyes to the circular skylight in the middle of the dome. Minutes tick by before the sun slides into the right place to pour through into the chamber, bathing the iia’sidras’ upturned faces in golden light. At that Riagil rises to formally open the gathering.

“Aurënen welcome.” He addresses the room, arms open in greeting. “Thank you for heeding my call. I, Riagil ì Molan Uras Illian Gedre have summoned you here, to this house that our fathers shared, as did their fathers, and their fathers before them. Here we stand together, members of one great clan, as we have since the first council of Sarikali. As your host it is my great honour to introduce to you our brothers and sisters we all thought lost to us. Aurënen, please open your hearts to the children of Hâzadriel, who have come home to us after many years apart.”

A collective murmur swells around the room. Riagil gestures and one of the Hâzad elders rises, approaching slowly with the aid of a gnarled walking stick. “I cede the rest of my time to Mâziel ï Tuula Rhiannon Allia.”

The old Hâzad nods to Riagel as he resumes his seat. When she speaks her voice is stronger and steadier than her appearance would’ve suggested, deep and vaguely accented. “Thank you for your welcome. Just two months ago our Khirnari was killed defending our clan. We have not yet had the chance to observe a mourning period or elect her successor, as the eldest of our people I will speak for us until that time.” She falters momentarily, overcome with emotion. “My mother’s mother’s mother hailed from the clan Yllannos. Her mother’s name was Rhiani.

Several gasps rise from the Yllannos delegation. “When my ancestors left their home, they never intended for us to return, yet today I stand before you. I do not do so lightly; we are in dire need of your help, Aurënen.”

“They came with the spring melt. We don’t know who they were, they flew no banners and spoke in a tongue none of ours speak. They were not the first who attempted to trespass on our lands but we had never faced such numbers. Our warriors fought admirably, for the first month we held them below the pass. But they were relentless and outnumbered us two to one, and they had a powerful wizard who practiced magic like none we’d ever seen. We lost many beloved kinsmen over the course of the summer, our Khirnari and both of her daughters among them. They only let up when the snows came early, by Aura’s endless mercy, and the enemy was forced down the mountain. But they did not leave the valley, out scouts them found them staking camp a mile below the snow line. We could only assume they intended to continue their assaults through the winter. Having lost so many of our strongest already, we made the impossible decision to leave the home Hâzadriel built for us. We fled under the cover of a blizzard, only taking what we could carry. Our attackers followed us for a ways but halted when we crossed into Mycena. The journey claimed the lives of two more of our elders, and Aurella’s baby girl, may they find peace.”

The congregation repeats her prayer, many making warding gestures to aid the lost souls on their journeys onward. “So now we stand before you Aurënen, out of desperation. I cannot tell you why these men are after my people, just that we have reason to believe that they will not give up. We seek sanctuary, with full knowledge that we are exposing you all to the same dangers. We would not do this had we any other options. For the sake of the shared blood that runs through our veins I ask you to allow my people to return to your country and the protections it offers. Thank you.”

With that the old woman hobbles back to the benches. Hushed conversations break out around the room until Riagil resumes the floor and calls attention once more. “That concludes today’s meeting. The Iia’sidra will now meet in private, the rest of you please go enjoy this beautiful day. A full luncheon will be laid for you in the southeast hall at midday. Tonight every clan may hold their own council, and we will meet here again tomorrow for further discussion.”

In the time they’ve been inside the day has heated up and a heavy humidity set into the air. Even the shadowed streets are uncomfortably warm, and the people exiting the chamber are already shedding their outer layers. Kheeta snags him from behind as the crowd disperses, “Hey, we’re going to hike down to the falls for a swim, you coming?”

A swim would be enjoyable, but he can see Kheeta’s sizable group of cousins and friends waiting behind him. Seregil’s headache is still pounding, heightened by the humidity, and he doesn’t really feel up to that much socializing. “Go on, I wanted to put in some work with Sun and Cloud today. Can’t let them get lazy.” Kheeta frowns, no doubt about to offer to stay behind, Seregil kicks his shin lightly, “Seriously go on, I’ll see you at tea. Have fun!”

Kheeta and his group head off, and Seregil exhales in relief. With his friend distracted and Adzriel tied up in meetings, he can finally have a second to think for himself. Looking around he scans the mingling crowd for Chyptaulos colours, but there’s no sign of Ilar. Their bond has fallen silent as well, it seems that he’s moved into the post-fight phase of avoiding Seregil entirely. At least they’re progressing, maybe he’ll be ready to talk by tonight.

Seregil truly had wanted to visit the stables, so he heads out along the path that leads into the forest where the corrals are located. As he approaches, the sweet musk of hay and manure fills his lungs. No matter where he is, Seregil always feels easier when he’s around horses, and he inhales the familiar scent gratefully. At this time of day all of the horses will have been turned out together in the large central enclosure, which snakes through the forest. He can’t see the herd at first, so Seregil hops the fence and picks his way through the field. Whistling the distinctive three-tone note that he uses with all of his animals, it’s only a matter of minutes before Cloudhopper and Sunspot come trotting through the trees.

Cloud comes straight to him, butting her head into his chest so hard he’s knocked back a pace. She knows exactly where to look for the sugar lumps he always carries, and mouths eagerly at the pouch on his belt. Sun, her younger half-sister, plays a bit harder to get, accepting a treat but prancing back out of reach tossing her mane. “Oh no you don’t.” Seregil tells her sternly, “It’s you I’ve come to see. Don’t think that this is a vacation, I still expect you to remember what we’ve been learning.”

Putting his horses through their paces makes everything else fade away into the background. Nothing seems quite so bad when he’s perched on Sun’s back, coaxing the spirited yearling through the exercises they’ve been working on. As usual Cloud follows along, showing off and demanding a treat of her own for every one her sister gets.

The mares are both daughters of the only horse that Seregil had brought with him from the Bôkthersa herd. She’d been the first filly he’d raised from birth, one of the few things that he had bonded over with his father. He hadn’t been allowed to take any of his other horses, the bloodlines too tightly guarded. But with that one mare he’d established his own modest herd in Chyptaulo. Cloudhopper is a clone of their mother, the same solid white with a long noble face and socks that look like they’ve been dipped in ash. Sunspot is the successfully cumulation of years of careful breeding to produce a roan so pale that her main coat is the lightest silvery pink. Her entire face is dark red with a pure white burst between the eyes. She’s perfect, save for an overly large serving of attitude, which they’ve been working to temper. Having her more mature sister there to provide a steadying influence is helpful, except for days like today when Cloud feels the need to act out.

After about an hour of exercises Seregil let’s the horses resume their leisure, although he stays mounted on Cloud. He allows her to wander, reclining back with his legs sprawled about her lean shoulders and head on her haunches, closing his eyes. The horse is so accustomed to his weight that she ambles about unbothered, finding a patch of wild clover to graze.

Seregil is just falling into a light doze when Cloud nickers and jolts into a sudden canter, nearly sending him into the dirt. Struggling to find his seat Seregil doesn’t notice the figure at the fence until they’re right up to him. It’s the Hâzadrielfaie ya’shel, and he’s blushing in dismay. “I’m so sorry!” He exclaims, I was just looking, I didn’t mean to bother you!”

Cloud’s got her whole head over the fence, craning to peer curiously at the newcomer. The ya’shel holds up a tentative hand but jumps back when she takes that as invitation to nibble. “It’s alright.” Seregil tells him, tugging at Cloud’s mane to reign her in. “She’s terribly spoiled and thinks that everyone it here to visit her shower her with treats. Hey you, leave off him!” Cloud whinnies a protest and leans against the fence persistently. Beside them Sun decides she wants a piece of the action too, craning her long neck over Seregil’s lap. “Here you might as well take these, they won’t leave you alone until they got something.” He untied his pouch and tosses it over. Fumbling it slightly the ya’shel pulls out some lumps and offers his palm shyly to Sun while Seregil holds Cloud at bay.

“They’re gorgeous.” The ya’shel says, grinning at the tickle of horsey whiskers on his hand. “Are they both yours?”

Sun is technically Ilar’s, born at the exact right time to be a gift for his last name day. But Seregil has ended up being the one to train her. Despite his best attempt to get him more involved, Ilar’s interest in horses only runs as deep as getting him from one place to the next. So he nods. Then, for the sake of polite conversation, “Do you have a herd? Up in the north?”

“We did.” The ya’shel says wistfully, “But they’re very different than these horses. Much smaller and shaggy. Yours almost look more like deer than the horses I’m used to.”

Seregil can well imagine the rough mountain ponies that the Hâzads must’ve raised. Very different indeed, with packed muscle and long coats to protect them from the harsh conditions. Good for labour but not much else. “Would you like to have a ride?” He offers, always eager to share the joy of experiencing a well-bred horse.

“Oh I don’t know!” The Ya’shel looks torn. He’s clearly enamoured with the horses but bites his lip nervously. “They’re a lot bigger than I’m used to, I’ll probably be useless.”

“You’ll be fine!” Seregil insists, dismounting smoothly and gesturing for the other man to join him over the fence. “I wouldn’t submit you to Sun’s wrath but Cloud here is a sweetheart, she’s great with beginners.”

The ya’shel climbs over to stand beside Seregil, stroking Cloud’s shoulder. “Are you sure?” He asks, “I don’t want to interrupt what you were doing.”

Seregil laughs, “What, napping? It’s for the best probably.”

The ya’shel shrugs but he’s grinning excitedly, “You looked so peaceful!”

“You want a ride or not?”

“Don’t I need a saddle? And bridle, how will I steer?”

Seregil shakes his head, “Bareback is actually better in this case, you won’t have to worry about telling her what to do, just sit there and let her go where she wants. Plus I’ll be there, she’ll just follow Sun.” He kneels and laces his fingers together. “Sound good?”

“Alright you’ve convinced me.” The ya’shel laughs, and steps into Seregil’s hands for a boost up. Despite his reservations he assumes a proper seat straight away, balanced nimbly astride Clouds back. Seregil mounts up and clicks his tongue, signalling for Cloud to follow, then kicks sun into an easy walk.

“Not so different is it?” He asks the Ya’shel as they amble through the trees. Cloud is walking so close he can feel the heat of her body against his leg.

“Not so different.” The Hâzad agrees, “Definitely higher up though. But her gait is so smooth! I barely notice that there’s no saddle.

Seregil grins proudly. He’d poured years of hard work into refining Cloud’s walk and is quite pleased that the other man had picked up on it.

“How many horses do you have?” The Hâzad inquires, “I’ve heard stories about the great Aurënen herds.”

“I’ve got fourteen of my own. And one of my mares is set to foal next month.” It’s a relatively small number, Seregils sisters each have at least three times as many. But he’s fiercely proud of every horse. “My clan’s herd is two hundred strong, one of the biggest.”

“You’re Bôkthersan right?”

Surprised, Seregil nods “Yes that’s right.”

“Yours is the only one I can remember.” The ya’shel admits, “Green is my favourite colour. We didn’t have nearly so much of it back home. There’s so much or it here!”

“You should see our Faie’thast, there’s so much green it’ll hurt your eyes.” He can’t help but break into the first couple lines of the classic song, and is taken by surprise when the Ya’shel joins in. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“Some of the elders would sing it, handed down from our founders. Most of us didn’t talk about the homeland, it was frowned upon. But I liked the stories so I’d pester them to tell me about Aurënen. I always dreamed of seeing it someday but I never actually thought I’d get to.” He frowns then, guiltily, and hurried to add, “Not that I’m happy that this is all happened obviously.”

“Obviously.” Seregil agrees. “So you wanted to leave even before? Were there many who felt the same way?”

“A handful of others. We…understood why we lived the way we did,” Seregil glances sideways at that, but the other doesn’t elaborate. “But it was hard. Our land wasn’t very fertile, not good for many crops. And the only animals that we had were all very gamey, so our diet was really limited. Especially in the winters we basically lived on dried venison and oats. And it wasn’t like we could trade for anything. The variety of food you have here! It’s amazing! A bunch of us were sick for the first few days because our stomachs got overwhelmed.”

Seregil desperately wants to ask why they would live that way for so long, but holds his tongue. He assumes that they’ll all find out in the coming days as the negations progress. Instead he settles for a more specific question, “Can I ask…you don’t have to answer if I’m overstepping…your father, how did that come to be if your clan was so against outside contact?”

“It’s alright. My father was a trapper who lived in the valley below us. He crossed into our territory chasing a spotted cat. That’s a really big cat with gorgeous silver and black pelt, very rare and valuable. He knew the danger but it would’ve been worth it to get a prize like that.” He tells the story like a well-worn glove, voice warm and fond. “My mother was on patrol that day and was going to kill him but he was clumsy and set off an avalanche. She ended up saving him instead.”

“She spared his life?”

“She likes to say that she couldn’t bare to kill someone that stupid. That it would have been like killing a baby.”

They laugh together. “And her family was okay with it? There aren’t any other ya’shels are there? It must’ve been quite the scandal.”

“They were far from okay with it, but her uncle was Khirnari at the time and out of love for her he spared us both. He forbade her from seeing my father again and sent out riders to hunt him down but he escaped.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“Oh yes. He came back every summer for the trapping season and we’d sneak down to see him.” Based on his soft smile the memories of that time are very happy ones.

“It must’ve been difficult to leave him behind.”

“He died a few years ago.”

Seregil winces, he’s assumes the man was still alive based on the Ya’shel’s age. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, it’s probably for the best in the end. He’d have gotten caught up in the fighting and that would’ve ended very badly.”

They lapse into silence for a minute, Seregil feeling like he’s put his foot in his mouth in every way possible. It’s the ya’shel who breaks it, a casual comment, “I suppose that with such long legs they can run much faster than our horses.”

Seregil raises his brows and smirks. “Is that a challenge you’re certain you want to make?”

He takes the smirk he receives in response as permission to spur Cloud into a run. At the nudge of his bare heels into her flank the horse takes off like an arrow, Sun hot behind. The ya’shel keeps his seat, whooping heartily, clearly a better horseman than he’d implied. They fly down the length of the corral, the horses in their absolute element, needing no instruction to glide between the trees and over rocks. The ya’shel is laughing gleefully and Seregil can’t help but join.

They pull up when they come upon the rest of the herd, a hundred or so horses from every clan all bunched together around the elbow of a creek. Cloud whickers in greeting and Seregil senses Sun getting excited so he pulls up and threads his fingers through her mane to keep her from bolting. “Wow.” The Hâzad whistles, surveying the animals. “They’re all so magnificent! It seems the tales of Aurënen’s horses are not exaggeration.”

“They certainly are not.” Seregil claps the other man’s shoulder in what is perhaps an overly familiar move considering they haven’t even exchanged names. But the other doesn’t seem to mind. “Maybe once everything is settled you can start a herd of your own.

“That would be fantastic!” The ya’shel agrees enthusiastically, “You’ll have to give me advice, I love looking at them but I don’t actually know the first thing about breeding.”

“I’d be happy to!” Once he’s confident Sun won’t take off, he let the horses wander closer to the group, pacing into the midst of the herd. The Ya’shel takes everything in with wide eyes, patting the horses that come to investigate them and distributing lumps from Seregil’s pouch which soon gains him quite a following of adoring friends. He laughs joyfully as the horses shuffle about, vying for his attention. One particularly bold buckskin parks his head right across his lap in search of scratches.

Although he could’ve happily right there for hours more, Seregil eventually notices the angle of the sun and taps his companion on the shoulder. “Say your goodbyes we should head back.”

The ya’shel pouts but hands the pouch back, giving the buckskin one final kiss between the eyes. Seregil sets a brisk canter to get them back to the stables; by this point they’ve been gone for hours and his absence would’ve been noted. He gives the Hâzad a hand down and dismisses Sun and Cloud with affectionate smacks to their haunches.

With each step they take down the trail back to the city more of the warmth from the ride is replaced by dread. He’s not technically done anything wrong, but he can’t help but feel the same strange guilt that he’d felt that morning. Especially now, walking close enough beside the ya’shel on the narrow trail that their sleeves brush every other step. As nice as their time together had been he feels a strong impulse to run off and leave him behind.

When they step out of the shade of the tree line, there’s nobody in sight. Since it’s the heat of the day most would have retreated in the tupas to nap. “We’ll have missed lunch.” He comments, “If you’re hungry I’m sure there’s somebody in the kitchens who can get you something to eat. Do you know where they are?”

The ya’shel says he does so Seregil bids him farewell, his own appetite squashed by the pit in his stomach. As he heads in the direction of Bôkthersa tupa the Hâzad calls after him, “Hey! I never got your name!”

Seregil turns back but doesn’t stop, walking backwards as he calls, “It’s Seregil.” For some reason he himself doesn’t even understand he doesn’t offer his full name.

The Ya’shel follows his example, simply replying, with another of his blinding smiles “I’m Alec!” The warmth of this one lasts a little longer this time.

Ilar is hiding in the gardens outside the Bôkthersa tupa. He steps out from behind a palm when he sees that it’s Seregil, not one of his relatives. “There you are!” He exclaims, tone softer than it might’ve been. He pulls Seregil to join him out of sight amidst the foliage and pulls him into an embrace. “I was worried when you weren’t in the dining hall, where have you been?”

Seregil squeezes him back, pressing his face to his shoulder. He can feel earnest affection and concern traveling through the bond which he drinks up like a parched man. “I was just riding, I’m sorry to scare you. I just wanted to visit the girls.”

“Of course you did, I should have known.” Ilar pulls back slightly so that they can look at each other. “I never know with you, what you’re like when you’re cross at me. I always fear you’ll run off on me.”

Seregil strokes his a finger along the crease between his dark brows. “You know better than that. No matter how we bicker I would never do that to you. I wish you’d trust me.”

“I know!” Ilar moans, pulling him back for another cuddle, swaying them lightly back and forth. “When I see you so happy with your family I start to think about what I’d do if you left me, I simply couldn’t bare it, it makes me lose my senses! Can you forgive me for loving you too much my talì?”

“Of course.” Seregil rubs his shoulders, “I love you too talì, I’ll say it as many times as it takes to chase your fears away.” He presses his lips to Ilar’s ear, “I love you I love you I love you!”

The other man cackles and pinches his side playfully. “Say it again I don’t believe you!”

This silliness goes on for a while longer, Seregil would keep it up all night he’s so relived to be past their fight. Once Ilar is satisfied he kisses him on the cheek and steps back. “Here, since you missed lunch I snuck this out.” He hands over a folded linen, which Seregil unwraps to find several slices of flatbread spread generously with crumbled goats cheese and oil. It’s a favourite of his and although his appetite is still absent the thoughtfulness is touching and he takes a bite straight away. “Will you come see me tonight?” Ilar asks as he eats.

Chewing and swallowing, Seregil tells him “I’ve got to eat dinner here, but as soon as it’s done I’ll come find you.”

“Good!” Ilar gives his one last kiss, swiping a nugget of cheese on his way, popping it in his mouth with a wink. “I’m glad that silliness is behind us, the bed was too cold without you.”

Once he’s gone Seregil folds the remaining bread back up to save for later, and allows himself a few more minutes before heading inside. He’s utterly drained from the emotional ups and downs of the day. Instead of entering in the front, where he would be sure to encounter somebody who’d want to talk, he takes the well practiced route up the side of the house to his bedroom window. Not bothering to change he falls on top of his blankets, intent to nap for as long as he’s left undisturbed.


	2. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second day of the gathering brings a bit of Alec POV. He's a tricky mister to write.
> 
> Prepare for an influx of OCs

The communal dining hall is more richly decorated than any building back home on Black Mountain.

It makes Alec feel a bit awkward, eating breakfast under grandeur that seems more fit for royal banquets. The high arched ceiling supported by columns of the same glossy dark stone that makes up most of the buildings in Sarikali are carved in spirals, topped with elaborate geometric crowns. The ceiling itself is inlaid with a mosaic of polished pale tiles that reflect the light back around the room, creating a sort of soft luminous atmosphere. There are paintings on the walls, depicting pastoral scenes of green fields and faie in ambiguous white sen’gai collecting harvest.

There’d been very few painted images in their own culture; sources for good pigment had been limited and mostly reserved for rituals. A few of the most important buildings in the village had ornamentation, the beams of the big house had some carved designs, but mostly they were just study rather than beautiful. Constructed with a mind to withstand months of hard snow, not beautification.

Some of the Hâzadrielfaie elders are grumbling about it, scorning the paintings and calling the Aurenenfaie vain and shallow. But elders are wont to grumble, and Alec has a feeling they’re just homesick.

Oskiel is in full rant over it when Alec returns to the table, balancing two laden trays. “Here uncle, more tea.” He cuts in, hoisting the fresh pot over and refilling the old man’s mug. “Auntie Piya? You’re looking thirsty. I’ve got some honey here for you too.”

“Bless you child.” Piya rasps, her lungs have been disagreeing with the moist climate, plaguing her with a bad cough since they arrived. Once they’ve all got their tea, Alec shuffles the other tray forward. He’d been pleased to find that the staple breakfast in Aurënen is the same as theirs; although these rghaif cakes are lighter and thinner. He passes the cakes around, and then the bowls of toppings. Back home they’d mostly just paired the cakes with goose fat, but here it’s popular to roll them with fruit.

The fruit in Aurënen is a daily source of marvel, Alec can’t get enough of it. They’d had berries in the north, lingonberries and gooseberries, blackberries in late summer. They’d always been a favourite treat for children and adults alike. And every year for his name-day his father would bring him delicious apples from the valley which the three of them would eat together in the secret cave they met in.

The sheer variety of fruit in Aurënen is overwhelming, every day Alec encounters a new one that send his tastebuds spinning. The peaches are his favourite, so tender and sweet his mouth waters just thinking about them. The mangos are delicious too, and the grapes and oranges and figs. The Aurënens use fruit in every meal, with the rghaif at breakfast, platters available all day both fresh and dried, cooked with meats at dinner, fish in creamy mandarin sauce, venison with tart pomegranate seeds, roast pheasant with plum jelly. Today Alec has heaped his rghaif with mashed fig. He makes sure all the elders have their plates sorted, then sits down to dig in.

It’s quite early, most of the long tables still empty. But as they eat the hall slowly fills. Alec observes the Aurënens with interest, as he has every day. It’s fascinating to watch the numerous different clans and how they mix and mingle with one and other. He’d spent so many years being taught that outsiders are dangerous, that the only people you can trust are your own kin, to always assume that anyone else mean to do you harm. It had been drilled into all of them their whole lives.

Such paranoia is difficult to shake off, and most of the Hâzads have been keeping to themselves. The other clans clearly have no such inhibitions, you often see groups of Faie wearing all different sen’gai walking together. The tables around them host mixed groups, breaking fast together, chatting and laughing. There are clearly good friendships that transcend clan lines, as Alec watches a young woman in Gedre red and yellow greets an elder in a dark blue patterned sen’gai with a warm embrace and a kiss to each cheek. A group of youths around Alec’s age are at the banquet tables piling their plates far too high, and are scolded by a kitchen attendant for their greed. They flee, giggling past Alec’s table. They’re clearly close friends despite the fact they’re all from different clans.

It’s hard to image growing up like that, being allowed to just make friends with everyone you meet. From the sound of it, the Aurënen clans regularly trade with one and other, travel between faie’thasts for casual visits, even foster each other’s children for extended periods. It makes Alec a bit melancholy in all honesty. To think back to the years that he hadn’t even been permitted to see his own father. To imagine an alternate childhood where he could’ve had friends from all over, peers who weren’t mostly his cousins, who hadn’t known him his whole life and seen all of his embarrassing phases. People around him who didn’t know literally everything about him and his family, who didn’t know about the time he’d gotten ‘lost’ in a snowstorm just meters from the village walls. Who hadn’t witnessed the time he’d climbed the wrong tree and gotten horribly stuck in a giant sap well, his uncles had to come cut him out of his clothes to get him down. It had gotten all over his braid too, the resulting ugly haircut had taken months to grow out.

Of course Alec understands why his ancestors made the decisions they did. It had seemed like the only way to protect not only themselves, but also the loved ones they left behind in Aurënen. If their secret got out to the world, if people knew about the power that lay dormant in their blood, wars would be fought over it. They’d thought that by retreating to the wilderness they could protect everyone. And then the foreigners had come. Proving that they’d been right about what lengths people would go to get them, while simultaneously showing how naive they’d been to think that it would be enough to run away. For power like that there’d always be somebody willing to search for it. To kill for it.

“What is on you mind that’s got your face so long my son?” Ireya plunks down on the bench beside him, jostling for space. She immediately steals the biggest of his rghaif for herself, biting into it before he can protest.

“Just home.” He tells her, trying to keep his voice light. “I was wondering why I never thought to put lingonberries on Rghaif, it would have been good don’t you think?”

She raises a brow like she doesn’t quite believe that’s all he was thinking about, “I’m sure it would’ve been. Maybe they have lingonberries here that we can try.”

“Ireya!” Säade interrupts, reaching across the table to grasp her hand, “Ireya please, where’s Hâzadriën? My shoulder is paining me fiercely today. I don’t understand why I can’t have my medicine?”

“Shh auntie.” Ireya takes the woman’s gnarled fingers in both of hers, “we talked about this remember? The others are staying somewhere else right now, and we have to keep that a secret. Did you put on your salve this morning?”

“That stuff is useless!” Säade whines, “I want my normal medicine!” Her voice is raising to uncomfortable volume, considering they’re still keeping the existence of the tayan’gils secret from the Aurënenfaie. They’d had to tell the Gedre khirnari of course, when they’d first arrived, who had in turn confided in his circle of closest advisors. They’d been the ones to set up the house where the tayan’gils are currently sequestered, a rustic villa about an hours ride north of Sarikali. But as of yet they’re the only Aurënens who’ve been trusted with the secret of the Hâzadrielfaie.

Poor old Säade doesn’t quite seem to grasp the need for discretion, her mind had already been growing hazy from nearly three centuries, and she’d been deeply affected by the tragedies of the past months. She’d lost nearly all of her many children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren in defense of the faie’thast, as well as her dear friends and fellow elders. The grief has stolen most remaining sense of time and space, no matter how often they remind her where she is the poor thing is disoriented and distressed.

Thankfully Piya steps in, gently taking Säade’s hand from Ireya and pulling her friend to her feet. “Come on my dear, I’ll take you to find some medicine. I’ve got something special back in my rooms that’ll help.“ She offers her arm to the older woman to lean on, “Dears if you’d be so kind as to send a tea tray around later? I’ll get her settled. Come on Oskiel you too.”

The old man complains loudly, but follows his friends, taking up Säade’s other arm. “Poor old girl.” Ireya sighs once they’ve shuffled out of the hall. “I have a feeling we’re going to need to keep her to the tupa for the time being, she just can’t remember to keep her voice down.”

“It seems so unfair.” Alec says sadly, “she’s been taking the…medicine for so many years, to suddenly cut her off like that? She’s in pain. Isn’t there anything we can do? I could ride out and bring some back for her.”

Ireya plucks absently at a grape, nibbling the deep purple skin. “You know it’s too risky. We don’t even know if the flowers would last the journey, they might whither up this far away.”

He knows she’s right, but it’s still hard to watch the elders suffer. Säade has always been one of his favourite companions growing up, she was a marvelous storyteller and young Alec has spent many an evening at her knee by the fire listening to her tales. He hates seeing her shrink into a shadow of her old self and not being able to help. “When are we going to tell the council?”

“Hopefully today.” Ireya replies, “But it’s difficult to know for certain. These things take time, the Iia’sidra don’t believe in rushing any decision and they’ll take as many days as they see fit before moving forward. But if all goes well in the general assembly today I think we’ll be able to tell the rest of the Khirnaris tonight.”

Their somber conversation is interrupted by a flurry of activity as they’re joined by a group of their clan-mates. All at once their table is full and lively. “Good morning Auntie!” Jhaana and Sharai crow in unison, kissing the top of Ireya’s sen’gai one after another, they’re less respectful of Alec, yanking his braid so hard it jerks his head back.

“Oi!” He snaps, twisting to slap at Sharai, but his cousin dances aside sticking her tongue out. The girls take the bench across from them, effectively ending their peaceful morning. The two sisters - his youngest uncle’s daughters - are both older than Alec by a few years. But you wouldn’t know it, observing the three of them together. They’d been teasing him about it for years; ‘Serious Alec’ their family had called him since he was a child. Serious quiet Alec always thinking too hard, never wants to play around any more. They had taken to calling him ‘Grandfather’ right around his sixteenth name-day.

“Hey Alec,” Sharai just uses his name now, which usually means she wants a favour. Sure enough; “Won’t you come out with us today? Apparently there’s going to be a rowing competition down on the river. Everyone else already got into teams and we need a third.”

“Rowing?” Alec asks, wondering if he’d misheard, “boats?”

“Duh, what else do you row?”

“But…have you ever even been in a row boat?” He can’t quite wrap his head around the request.

Jhaana rolls her eyes dramatically, “That’s not the point! Everyone is doing it we don’t want to miss out. Ghiddan has a spare boat that he said we could use, we can’t just say no!”

Ghiddan is one of the young Gedres that he girls have befriended. They’ve been throwing themselves fully into their new social pool, clearly not sharing Alec’s own trouble letting his guard down. “Why not? You won’t be able to win if you’ve never done it before.”

“It would be rude to say no!” Jheena explains like she’s speaking to a child, “and it’s not about winning, it’s about participating! These are our new people, we’ve got to break into their social rituals! We’re already seriously disadvantaged since they’ve all known each other for years. We’ve got to assert ourselves now! Don’t you want to make friends?”

“Sure, I just don’t want to drown just so because you two want to impress a cute boy. Thank you very much though.” He says, flicking a grape seed across the table.

It bounces off her chin, and she shrieks in outrage, “Oh don’t you judge us! Do you have eyes? Have you seen what we’re working with?” Jhaana gestures wildly out over the hall with a grand sweep, “Look at this! Up until now we only had like what, zero eligible bachelors? Everyone was either related to me or an absolute dickhead? So I’m sorry if it’s exciting to suddenly have options! Auntie can you believe him?”

Ireya laughs, hands up in a sign of surrender “Don’t drag me into this kiddo.”

“That means she agrees with us.” Sharai informs Alec, “she thinks you’re being a great stuffy bore too.”

“Am not!” Alec glare at his mother “you don’t think that!”

She shrugs helplessly “Well I wouldn’t use those exact words…”

“See!” Jhaana jeers, throwing a grape back at him.

“Betrayed!” Alec clutches his chest feinting like he’s been struck with an arrow, “by my own mum!”

The three of them giggle at his antics, Ireya pinches his cheek, “You could stand to go have some fun, is all I’m saying. Aura knows we all deserve it.”

“Fine, I’ll go with you.” Jhaana and Sharai cheer victoriously, “But I am _not_ rowing. I refuse to die today.”

They end up watching the rowing from the river bank which, despite the girl’s’ initial disappointment, is for the best. The competition is quite fierce, the three person teams propelling the sleek, shallow boats over the water at truly impressive speeds. There are several flights, and in the end it’s their Gedre friend Ghiddan’s team who takes the victory. Jhaana and Shanai fall over themselves cheering, running over and congratulating the victors who do seem very receptive indeed to their affection. The three boys offer to be their guides for the day, apparently there’s to be more competitions.

Alec has to admit that he’s having a good time. The Gedres are amicable sorts, and he can see why his cousins have taken to them. “The games are tradition.” One called Naghil explains on their way to the next event. It turns out to be a throwing contest, where the participants take turns hurtling heavy metal disks across a field. It seems a bit brutish until they watch a couple rounds, and Alec begins to appreciate that there is a form to the way the throwers spin, using the momentum of their own weight to propel the disks. “You can compete in as many as you’d like, it doesn’t matter if you’re a beginner or a master. And afterwords whoever wins has to give a lesson to anyone who wants to learn.”

It’s all very informal, there’s no set schedule, instead events pop up whenever enough people gather to instigate them. Observing how it all unfolds is fascinating, Alec can see appreciate how it would be if you’d grown up doing it, but as an outsider it’s impossible to keep track and a bit overwhelming. He’s glad they’ve got their guides to shepherd them around or else he’d be utterly lost.

After the throwing they watch some sort of dancing, which unlike the sporting contests, is a subjective competition. There’s no official judges, instead the crowd acts as a jury, cheering as loud as possible for the favourite pairs. It gets very rowdy very quickly, in the end the crowd passionately screams a pair of dancers to victory. The two young men who win take a sweeping bow, hand-in-hand and blowing kisses at their adoring supporters. Alec can’t help but cheer along, whistling a long, loud note for them. They stick around after for the lesson, Alec twirls Sharai in clumsy circles laughing until they’re dizzy with it.

They end up amassing quite a group by midday, the Gedre boys have many old friends and they make a some new ones as well. They decide not to go back to the city for lunch, not wanting to miss out on any action. One of their new friends came prepared with bags of nuts and dried fruit which they pass around. Somebody gets their hands on a flask of turab. It’s the most fun Alec has had in a long time.

As the sun begins its slide into afternoon, somebody catches word that the archery competition is set to begin. “Oh Alec!” Jhaana exclaims, clutching at his arm, “You have to compete! Ghiddan how do we get Alec into the contest? You won’t believe how good a shot he is!”

Alec protests, but not hard. He’s feeling quite good, especially with a nice buzz from the turab. He lets himself be steered over to where a series of targets are being constructed. “Somebody get this man a bow!” Dannil, one half of the pair who won the dancing bellows, and just like that somebody appears with one, shoving it into Alec’s hands. With multiple pairs of hands clapping him on the back Alec stumbles forward to join the other archers. He’s slotted into the third group which gives him time to examine his bow, it’s a fine enough piece, taller than the ones he usually favours, but made from lovely supple wood. He tests the string, mentally adjusting for the new equipment, gauging the direction of the slight breeze.

Before he knows it it’s his turn. The targets are fairly rudimentary and he breezes through them without a sweat. He hears a ripple of admiration from the watchers as he hits the all with barely a single mistake.

After the first round the targets are rearranged into a more challenging configuration, and the top performers from each group go again. Once more Alec has no problem nailing each one, and this time the reaction from the spectators is undeniably enthousiastic. It does feel good.

While they wait for the third round to begin, Alec scans the crowd and spots a familiar face. Seregil his new friend from the day before is standing on the sidelines with another young man in Bôkthersa sen’gai. The other man notices Alec’s attention first, nudging Seregil. Alec waves, pleased to see the him again. He hopes he’d seen him shooting.

Seregil’s returning smile is a bit lackluster, a small quirk that lifts the left side of his mouth more than the other, and he doesn’t wave. Although his eyes are warm enough.

The third round is more challenging, nothing that Alec can’t handle but he does have to focus more, and a few of his arrows land just off the bull. Then it’s down to just four shooters, winner takes the prize.

Alex sizes up the other three finalists, all shooters that he’d picked out at the best from the very beginning. He’s been positioned to shoot behind a very young girl - one of the youngest faie he’d seen in attendance - wearing a pale peach sen’gai and a steely expression. Behind him is a handsome man in gold and black who’d had a truly impressive showing in the previous rounds. He’s the stiffest competition, if Alec had to wager. “Great shooting,” Alec offers him while the girl steps forward to take her turn, “Good luck.”

The man raises a sleek dark brow, “Luck? Don’t have much use for luck, you can keep it to yourself.”

Alec flushes, startled. It’s the first time since arriving that he’s encountered anything other than courtesy, “I - uh sorry?” He mumbles, turning away again.

The girl finishes her turn, Alec had been too embarrassed to pay full attention but her arrows ended up well placed. Shaking his arms and flexing his fingers, Alec steps up to the mark and goes through some breathing exercises. A bit shaken by the stranger’s hostility he searches for something to ground him. Seregil is still watching, front and centre. He’s too far to discern his expression but Alec draws forth the memory of their ride together, the warmth of the sunlight, the heady smell of the grass, the thrill of the horses muscles beneath him, the glow of new friendship blooming in his chest. Once he’s adequately focused he works rapidly through the targets, and before he’s even through he knows it’s some of the best shooting he’s ever done.

The crowd goes wild. He’d hit every target as close to perfect as he could ever hope for. The two remaining marksmen both shoot very well, but neither manages Alec’s level of perfection. Once everyone’s laid down their bows the crowd surges forward, crowding around to shower him with congratulations. He’s never been one to seek the centre of attention, but he gets swept up in the jubilation. People he’s never met before are grabbing him, kissing him, everyone cheering his name. Somebody brings him the prize, a gleaming copper arrowhead strung on a fine leather strap that they deposit over his neck with great ceremony.

Of course now Alec is expected to offer up his expertise to any takers, and from the look of it he’s going to have quite a few. Craning his neck he searches for Seregil, hoping that maybe he’ll join in and they’ll get to spend some more time together. But when Alec’s eyes find his green sen’gai he’s standing a distance away, and his heart sink to see that he’s been joined by the unfriendly archer.

The man doesn’t appear to have taken to defeat gracefully, scowling and throwing his hands around as he speaks. Seregil seems to be trying to calm him, touching his arm while trying to get a word in. But his companion shrugs him off and storms away; Seregil follows, face anxiously creased.

Feeling suddenly like he’s ruined something he didn’t even know he was involved in, Alec swallows his disappointment. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on what he just witnessed, as he’s faced with a hoard of faie from an assortment of clans all eager to get his advice. He spends a long time talking to the young girl with the intense eyes who, now that they’re not competitors, is actually very friendly. They debate bow preferences and show each other their favourite trick shots. By the time they all disperse they’ve agreed to meet up at dinner so he can meet her friends.

The festivities continue through the evening, although by sunset everyone’s had too much turab for any serious sporting. A great bonfire is constructed in the middle of the dirt field, and what feels like the whole population of the city spills out to gather. Three fat deer have been spit and hung in the fire, perfuming the night air with a mouthwatering aroma. Once it’s cooked the meat is quickly torn up and handed out in rolled cones of vellum, hot and greasy and delicious. There’s live music and singing and dancing, magicians send bursts of multi-coloured lights spiralling above their heads. Alec finds himself wedged arm-in-arm between Dannil and his partner Yorïs, rather drunker than he’d meant to get, loudly attempting to sing along to songs he doesn’t know. “Hey you’re not half bad Hâzad!” Dannil drawls, “Oi you should get up there! Dontcha think Yor? Alec should give us a show.”

The other man cheers his very loud agreement right in Alec’s ear, and they drag him over to the makeshift stage that has been constructed from upturned barrels and bare wood planks. Someone hauls him up, making the whole contraption wobble dangerously, which only makes everyone laugh. Alec doesn’t remember exactly how long he’s up there, or what songs he ends up singing. It’s all a blur of flashing light and sounds and smells, the swaying of the barrels under the weight of too many people isn’t scary it’s part of the fun. Somebody pours turab directly from a boat directly into his mouth, somebody else drapes a crown of wilted flowers on top of his sen’gai. “I love it here!” Alec tells everybody around him, it feels important that they all know. “I love it here!” He tells Dannil, who grabs his face and kisses his cheek sloppily in response. “I love it here!” He yells at Jhaana when he spots her across the stage.

“I love it here!” He slurs to Ireya when she pulls his arm over her shoulders to help him stagger up the path back toward the city. He’s not sure when she showed up, but he’s so happy to see her. To be in this beautiful place having this beautiful time with his beautiful mum.

“I am so glad to hear it my love.” Ireya rubs a warm hand between his shoulders. “We’ll see if you still feel the same way in the morning.”

“I will! I will Mum I’m telling you this place is the best!” Alec insists, “Everyone is so nice! Except that one guy, he was a meanie, but everyone else! Dannil and Yorïs and Maura and Naghil and Ghiddan and Seregil! Oh! Did I tell you about Seregil Mum? Did I tell you-“ he cuts off with a sudden burp that he hadn’t felt coming. “Seregil is so great! He let me ride the horses - they’re soooo big have you seen them?”

“Gods’ sake that was rank Alec!” She flaps her hand under her nose, “I’m glad you’re making so many friends, you’ll have to introduce me.”

That’s a great idea, Ireya would love Seregil. And the others but Seregil especially because Seregil was the best. So nice. Alec hopes he’s okay he’d looked so sad earlier. Not like with the horses he’d been so happy then. So had Alec. He loves it here.

“Yes you’ve said.” Ireya laughs, he must’ve said all that out loud. “I’d certainly love to meet Seregil, you be sure to arrange it, if you don’t die from this hangover that is.”

“Hangover? Oh! We should go see his horses! You’ll love them they’re just so, so big! I think it’s this way-“ he tries to turn around, trying to remember the way to the stables. Ireya pulls him back by his vest.

“It’s the middle of the night you dolt! Come back here!”

Relenting, he stumbles back to her, wrapping his arm around her neck. Suddenly exhausted he tips his head against hers, “I love you Mum, I’m glad we’re here. Do you think they’ll let us stay?”

The sky above them is thick with stars. They’re far enough from home that most of the constellations are different than the ones they’re used to. Unfamiliar but still beautiful. She squeezes his waist tightly. “I really hope so baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec's character is tricky to me to pin down...but here are some key traits i'm drawing from;
> 
> He matured faster than his pure blood age-mates, and also naturally a calm, thoughtful personality which I think is often misinterpreted as boring or unadventurous. He's inclined to wait and watch before acting - which leads some people to underestimate him, because they think he's slow. He's polite to a fault and tends to avoid conflict and bottle up his true feelings to an extent that borders on unhealthy - it would be better if he stood up for himself more.


End file.
